Leave The Gun, Take The Canoli

Zeldman brought you in for a sit-down. Made a sort-of suggestion. “We think, maybe, you’ll keep doing Hivelogic for a good long time,” he said.

“Boy it’s hot in here suddenly,” you said, tugging at your collar.

“So, looks like you’ve got some posting to go do,” he said. The smoke from his Chesterfield hung in the air around you. You couldn’t help but breathe it in. “These are good times,” he said, getting up from his chair. “You’ve got a good thing going here, don’t forget that.”

In the background you could hear people unloading a truck, the wet sound of something heavy, meat maybe, hitting a butcherblock table.